


Eurydice

by awerewolf



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, V isn't V and she has a decent life AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:00:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awerewolf/pseuds/awerewolf
Summary: V and Takemura meet without everything being awful.
Relationships: Goro Takemura/Female V
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Eurydice

**Author's Note:**

> Written because someone asked me, if my V wasn't V, where would she be and what would she be doing? 
> 
> This is the same V from Crossing the Styx.

Hanako Arasaka was a woman who valued art and beauty. A classical pianist herself, she relished the idea of hearing beautiful music, and of seeing beautiful productions. Saburo Arasaka, her father, often took her to such things in Tokyo. It was her only real opportunity to leave the compound, and that made the experience much more exciting for her.

When the head of the Arasaka family travelled to Night City, he brought his daughter along with him. Hanako had looked up nearby shows and had picked a few that she wished to see. They were not traditional Japanese art, but Saburo could not deny his daughter.

The ballet she picked was crowded, in a grand theatre filled with lavish decoration. Being the Arasaka family, they received the box with the best view of the stage. Takemura and Oda stood behind their respective employers as Hanako waited eagerly for the show to start.

Flashes clicked from the audience below as the media scrambled to get a glimpse of the mysterious Arasaka daughter on her rare trip to the West. The lights dimmed, and Hanako leaned forward, clutching the side of the balcony as her eyes locked on to the stage.

The music began. A beautiful, gentle melody tinged with the fresh feel of springtime and new beginnings. A dozen ballerinas danced on stage, their costumes glowing like rainbows. The lights dazed and flickered softly, like a gentle rainfall.

A boy stood next to a man, outfitted similarly. They danced together briefly, the boy copying the elder’s steps. The father reached out, finding a lyre, and giving it to the boy. The boy strummed it, music halting and awkward. A young man shifted in from the side of the stage, a grown version of the boy. He passed the lyre off to the man, and the man sat with it as the rest of the stage cleared, leaving him alone.

The man strummed the invisible strings of the lyre as the orchestra played along. A woman entered, moving softly and gracefully to the music. Her long hair flowed out behind her as she danced. The man looked up, stunned, but continued to play.

She twirled around him, seemingly hypnotized by the song, until he set down the lyre and took her into his arms. His hands ran down her arms, his face in the crook of her neck. Her eyes were closed, head hanging back, a look of pure love and bliss on her face.

He released her and they spun together, mimicking each other’s movements perfectly. His arms went around her again, lifting her into the air and she spread her arms like a bird about to take flight. Her hair and her dress hung down, swaying as he spun with her.

He lowered her, his hands caressing her face and hers caressing his. The lights shifted and she was on stage alone. The music was light as she danced. She spun gracefully, her hair falling around her. Other ballerinas joined, in ghost-like costumes, surrounding her as she danced.

Hanako was captivated, unable to take her eyes off the show, and Takemura found himself feeling the same way.

The woman danced among the other ballerinas, the music building higher and higher until she froze. Her arms jerked forward into her body, a jolt of pain. She collapsed. The other ballerinas scattered. The man returned, scooping his beloved into his arms. He spun slowly with her for a moment, her hands caressing his face as she had done before, until they fell limp and hung below her.

The pitch of the string instruments rose, mimicking the man’s cry of grief.

The stage went dark, and then lit up again. Blue lights illuminated the man as he stood alone, atop of a stone staircase. He descended, lyre in hand. Dark curtains ripped behind him as he played it, face twisted in despair.

When he reached the bottom, three children dressed in dark costumes ran towards his feet. He smiled sadly at them, playing for them as they watched with huge eyes. Ballerinas, more ghostly than before, danced in the background as he played. Their pale faces painted like skulls.

The children stood, crowding around his legs and leading him to something. A man and woman appeared, both tall and elegant. A king and queen, both crowned and wearing dark robes. They were cold and beautiful, like their surroundings.

The man strummed his lyre for the royal couple as the children once again sat at his feet. The raven-haired queen closed her eyes, smiling softly at the music. The man set down his lyre, looking at them with pleading eyes. The king turned to his queen, who nodded gently. The king raised his hand, and the woman from before appeared through the dark curtains.

The man ran to embrace his lost love, but the king stopped him. The king and queen spun together for a moment, but when the king turned his eyes back to his queen, she pulled away. The couple stood at each side of the man, each with a hand on his shoulder, and guided him to his love.

He took her into his arms, embracing her desperately. She hung loosely from his hands, face blank. The rest of the scenery faded, and only the two remained.

He danced forward; a hand clasped with hers behind his back. She moved behind him, graceful and quick, her hands on his shoulders, his back, in his hair. His head would turn for a moment and then back again, facing forward.

They twisted around each other like vines, dancing slowly and then faster. She stayed behind him, hands always moving on him, but he kept his back to her. Finally, they spun together, body against body, and he looked at her. An accident almost, and they both froze. The woman was yanked away into the darkness, as if by a pair of hands unseen by the audience.

The man collapsed, the strings rising again in agony and fading away with the last of the light.

The show ended, the lights returning and the dancers returning to the stage to bow. Hanako stood, applauding with a wide smile.

“A beautiful show.” She turned to Saburo. “Did you enjoy it, father?”

Saburo offered the smallest of smiles. “If you are happy, then I am as well.”

When the lights rose and much of the audience had cleared, Hanako insisted on meeting the dancers. Takemura and Oda escorted the two backstage as the director of the ballet beamed with pride.

The man led them through the orchestra pit, introducing them to all members of the orchestra as Hanako listened intently. Then they were led up to the stage, where each member of the cast was introduced, ending with the two leads.

“Our Orpheus,” The man with the lyre bowed, “And Eurydice.” The woman bowed, long hair swinging out.

As Hanako chatted with the director and the dancer who played Orpheus, Eurydice stood next to him, watching him curiously.

“Your cyberware is interesting.” She said, hands crossed neatly in front of her.

He looked down at his own hands, opening and closing them. “I am Arasaka-sama’s bodyguard. It is my duty to protect them, and I must be outfitted to do so.” He looked over at her. “You have no visible cyberware.”

“No.” She shook her head. “The art is in the body, the way we move. Mechanics can complicate and interfere. The grace and fluidity of the human body must not be tampered with or disrupted.”

He grew curious. “No cyberware at all?”

“For some, no. For others, very minimal. All of it blends in with the body and doesn’t interfere with dancing.” She smiled at him, her cheeks dimpling prettily. “I’m Mavis Marquis.”

“Goro Takemura.” His eyes turned to Saburo for a moment before returning to her. “Your dancing was lovely.”

“Thank you.” She looked out into the empty chairs in the audience. “You have met many people through Saburo Arasaka, I imagine. Do you know my grandfather? He is the CEO of Marquess Hotels.”

Takemura thought for a moment. “I believe I met him once, briefly. I admit, it was only a passing acquaintance.”

She laughed quietly. “I imagine so. He likes to brag about how well he knows the head of Arasaka. I often wondered how true it was.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Unfortunately, not true at all.”

She looked up at him, eyes curious and interested. He did not know how to feel. “Will you be in Night City long, Mr. Takemura?”

“I will stay so long as Arasaka-sama stays.” He told her.

“And will you work the entire time?” One hand went to her hip, and the other brushed gently through her hair. “Or will you have a free moment?”

“Why?”

“Perhaps we could get a drink sometime.” She laughed at his surprised face. “Don’t be so shocked. Maybe I want to know more about Japan. What are the ballets like there, I wonder?”

He opened his mouth, struggling for a way to answer, but found nothing to say. He gave her a look of confusion and she smiled. She touched his arm briefly, eyes glowing as a new contact appeared in his UI.

“If you have a free moment.” Her eyes shone playfully. “No pressure.”

Three days later, Saburo Arasaka decided to cancel his meetings and spend his day at home. In his advanced age, he was often too tired to plan his day overmuch. Some days he woke up with sore legs and aching joints. He would push back his meetings and dismiss Takemura for the day. That was one such day.

He sat in his hotel room, provided to him by the company, and thought of the woman at the ballet. He thought of her long hair, her legs as she spun gracefully about the stage. The way her dress flowed around her like water as she moved, and the way she spoke afterwards. The dance was an art form. Her own beauty was part of the art, part of what had drawn him in and kept him enraptured the entire show.

He scrolled through his contacts, finding her. Her contact photo was her en-pointe, arms draped almost carefree above her head.

He typed out a brief message. A drink with her—only to satisfy his curiosity.


End file.
